


Fade Into You

by constellxtions



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x06, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gap Filler, Ian Gallagher Takes Care of Mickey Milkovich, M/M, POV Ian Gallagher, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:09:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellxtions/pseuds/constellxtions
Summary: As Mickey looks at him, Ian feels naked, stripped of everything before the person he loves the most in the world, sure Mickey can see right through his soul right now. He runs both of his hands through his hair, smoothing it back and then settling them on both sides of Mickey’s face to tell him, his voice the most serious he’s ever heard it, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Mick.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 16
Kudos: 209





	Fade Into You

**Author's Note:**

> In which Mickey's struggling with his feelings and Ian is there to comfort him. Following the events of 11x06. The title comes from Mazzy Star's song of the same name.

“What a long fucking day.”

It really has been a  _ long fucking day.  _

First of all Mickey sneaks out of the bed, way before dawn, to go help Lip robbing his bike shop. Fuck, at least he made it up to him by kissing him gently on the lips, despite his very likely gross morning breath, right before leaving the room and then bringing him his favourite donuts. He didn’t even have to ask. Looks like Mickey just fucking knows him too well. 

Then that whole fucked up shit with Terry. Ian knows Mickey’s feelings towards his father, he knows Mickey tries with all his might to brush away what he really feels inside. And what he feels inside is far from beautiful emotions and all that shit. Ian knows it. So he can’t say he wasn’t a bit surprised when Mickey kept bringing it up. He knew Mickey wasn’t fine, he’s seen it in his eyes. The anger, the hatred. The sadness. He knows the whole situation shook him in the worst way. But he also knows Mickey needs his space, he needs Ian to be there for him, by his side. He needs him to listen, distract him maybe. Make him smile. So that’s what Ian’s been trying to do all day.

And now the whole house shit. The screaming, voices overlapping each other. Fred’s sudden crying. Ian wasted no time hinting that selling the house was the only option. The only intelligent option they had. They will all have to go, sooner or later. 

They had already talked about it, him and Mickey. They wanted their own place, their own apartment. Or their own house, maybe. Who knows. With the money they are making now that’s not a fever dream anymore. It’s not out of their reach. They can finally afford it. They can afford to live by themselves, not to be interrupted during their fucks by someone. They could be loud whenever they wanted, how much they wanted. No Debbie up their asses, no Frank laying wasted somewhere in a corner. Ian was so looking forward to spending his time with Mickey. If selling the house was what it took, then he was in. Mickey was in. They were in. 

“What a long fucking day,” He says as he enters their room. Mickey grumbles something under his breath. He’s laying on his side of the bed, still wearing his sweatpants and his sweatshirt he cut the sleeves off. His arms are crossed on his face. 

He had gone upstairs just as he was done with the food. He had brushed Ian’s thigh with his hand as he stood up from the table. He hadn’t talked much, except for the house discussion. He had spent way more time twisting the fork in his plate than actually bringing it to his mouth and eat. Ian didn’t want to push him in any way, so he’d just stayed at the table for a while. But he was worried. He’d do anything to take his pain and throw it away. He wanted to fucking kill Terry with his bare hands for what he put Mickey through. But he knew very well that it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it risking everything they had rebuilt in the last two years. They weren’t going to throw it all away. Not for Terry. Not for a person who had done what he’d done. 

So he’d finished eating, listening to Debbie and Lip still fighting over the house. He’d felt Carl’s eyes on him, then his voice, “Mick okay?” to which Ian just smiled weakly, deciding it was time to go check on his husband. To make sure he wasn’t having a breakdown all alone in their room.

So now, leaning on their door frame and watching him, Ian’s sure that there’s still a whole big mess inside his head. He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. He turns around to slide the door closed. Then, taking a few steps, he bridges the distance that separates him from the bed. He lays down as well, leaning on his left elbow to get a good look of Mickey’s face, still hidden under his arms. 

All of sudden, Ian’s throat feels dry and his heart feels so fucking heavy. He thinks about it only for a second before raising his hand and reaching in Mickey’s direction, gently resting it on his arm. He strokes it, slowly moving his thumb in little circles against his skin, before circling Mickey’s wrist with his fingers, gently moving away his arm from his eyes. They are shut, obviously. Of course they are. 

Ian releases a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Brings a finger to Mickey’s cheek, slowly,  _ slowly,  _ “Hey.”

Mickey opens his eyes, blinking as if he’s having a nervous tic. He looks at him. Ian feels something squeezing at his heart, breaking it into a million pieces. Mickey’s eyes are swollen, the blue almost gone for how much his pupils are dilated. Around them, the little veins are bright red, his lids swollen and heavy as well. The light of the lamp on the nightstand is strong enough to make his lashes shine, the tears Ian knows he’s trying to hold back at all costs trapped between them. 

Ian moves his hand and gently lays it on Mickey’s cheek, under his right eye, gently, afraid he might break him just by touching him. So gently, he almost doesn’t feel Mickey’s skin under his fingertips. 

Mickey blinks then, a single tear escaping from his eye and leaving a trail on his face, leaving a wet spot under one of Ian’s fingertips. Ian wipes it away. 

Mickey releases a heavy and shaky breath that hits Ian right in the face. Ian can feel Mickey’s cigarettes in it, mixed with a familiar scent of mint. He’s probably already brushed his teeth. He looks away then, fixing his eyes on the ceiling once again. His mouth hangs slightly open, as if it’s getting hard to breathe for him. His eyes wander from left to right, fast, before settling on a fixed point. Ian can see his Adam apple bobbing in his throat. His chest heaves once, twice, as he takes deep breaths. He brings his bottom lip between his teeth and bites it. 

A firm grip on his arm brings him back to reality. He doesn’t need to look down to know it’s Mickey’s hand, small but strong around his elbow. 

Whatever was left of his heart, Ian swears he can feel it breaking inside of him in this exact moment, it starts beating faster and faster and louder and his throat is dry again. He has to swallow the lump he can feel inside him, and he thinks Mickey can hear it too as he swallows it, his face facing his. As he looks at those sad eyes piercing through his body, Ian knows his own eyes aren’t so dry either. 

Ian knows. He knows that Mickey still isn’t comfortable in being vulnerable, in putting into words how he really feels inside. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t left a bit surprised when Mickey kept talking so openly about his dad, and maybe he should have seen it coming, this moment right here. The moment words wouldn’t be enough to express the pain Mickey was feeling inside. And Ian also knows that, if Terry’s paralysis played an important role in all of this, he’s also aware of the fact that it isn’t the only thing that upset Mickey like that. Ian knows that every single thing, small or big, that Terry put him through during all these years would always be there, under his skin. Every punch, every insult, every spit, every threat. Everything that happened with Svetlana and the baby. Everything, all of that, would always be there, inside of him, ready to blow up at the very first chance. 

So Ian nods, strokes Mickey’s head, gently moves away his swollen lips from between his teeth. He runs his thumb on it, softly, trying to soothe him in the best way he can think of. Then Mickey takes him a bit off guard as he kisses his thumb so gently, so lightly he wonders for a moment if he didn’t imagine it maybe. 

He’s leaning then on Mickey’s face and then he’s kissing him. His temple, his forehead. Then his nose, so small and perfect, a bit red from the tears he’s so trying to hold back. Each of his eyes, his wet and swollen lids. He can feel Mickey’s unshed tears on his own lips before dragging his mouth down his face and settling on his upper lip, sucking it gently. Mickey returns the kiss right away, sucking at him as gently as he is. 

Ian feels one of his hands on his shoulder, gripping tightly. With the other he lets go of his elbow to put it on his waist, then on his back and squeezes him, pulling him closer and closer. He hears the covers brushing against one another as Mickey shifts under him, as he tangles their legs together. Ian lets him. Of course he lets him. Mickey could do whatever he fucking wanted to him in this moment and Ian’d be more than fine with it. Ian would do anything to make Mickey feel loved. To make sure he knows there is nothing Ian wouldn’t do to show him his love. To show him his pride, his pride of being able to call him his  _ husband,  _ of being able to show off his wedding ring in the light of day, without having to hide anymore, not from Mickey’s father, not from anyone. 

He’d do anything to show him how lucky he feels. Lucky to get to fall asleep every night beside him, behind him, on him, under him. Lucky to see his face first thing in the morning every fucking day for the rest of his life. Lucky to be able to finally build a future together, after everything they had to deal with. After everything that got in their way, driving them apart too many times. Making them suffer way too much.

And maybe words aren’t enough now, but Ian lets go of Mickey’s lips. He puts his weight on his elbows and leans back to get a good look at him. Mickey’s breathing heavily, his face is reddened, just like his lips. As Mickey looks at him, Ian feels naked, stripped of everything before the person he loves the most in the world, sure Mickey can see right through his soul right now. He runs both of his hands through his hair, smoothing it back and then settling them on both sides of Mickey’s face to tell him, his voice the most serious he’s ever heard it, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Mick.”

And Ian knows Mickey, he knows him better than he knows himself, so when instead of getting a slight push on his arm or an invite to go fuck himself he sees Mickey’s lips tremble and his face scrunch up so bad it pains him to see it, Ian’s a bit thrown off by that.

It doesn’t last long, though, as he leans in and burrows his face between Mickey’s shoulder and neck. Mickey’s hands are holding him harder and harder and that’s ok. It’s more than okay. 

He feels Mickey’s shaky breaths against the side of his face, he feels his body trembling under his own. He knows he’s trying so hard to hold back his sobs. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, dragging his lips along Mickey’s neck, then on his jawline. Without letting him go, Ian manages to lean back a little, enough to look him in the face. His cheeks are flushed and streaked with tears. Ian brings his hand to his face and gently brushes them away, whispering, “I’m here.”

Mickey nods weakly, shutting his eyes again. He takes deep breaths as if he’s trying to regain some control over them. Ian nuzzles his head against Mickey’s again, letting him hold onto him for however long he needs. Fuck, he can stay like this forever if that’s what it takes to calm Mickey down. He’d do anything to make things easier for him. He’d do anything to take his pain away.

\---

He doesn’t know how long it takes for Mickey to speak. They are both lying down on their sides now, facing each other, their legs tangled over the covers. Mickey’s hand is on his waist, Ian’s brushing his up and down Mickey’s back, slowly. He feels Mickey’s fingers gently stroking him under his shirt.

For a long time they do nothing but look into each other’s eyes and gently brush their fingers on each other’s body. 

Mickey’s grip on his waist gets stronger as he releases a deep breath, blinks twice, before murmuring, so quiet Ian’s afraid he won’t catch his words, “I hate him.”

Ian swallows. Nods. He hates him too. 

He leans in then, closing the little gap between them, and kisses him, a simple touch of lips, “I know.”

When he looks at Mickey again, he looks away, biting his bottom lip. Ian lets him. 

“You know what he did to me,” he says, and his voice is shaking and Ian would do anything to make it stop, to take that fucking day out of his mind forever, to erase it from his memory. But he can’t. He can’t do it. What he can do is be there for him, listen to him. Swallow the giant fucking lump in his own throat and muster all of his strength in order not to cry in front of Mickey, not in this moment. Not when Mickey needs him. Not when he needs Ian to be strong for him. 

“I know,” he says then, again, because he knows Mickey doesn’t need big speeches now. He knows he doesn’t want his pity or whatever. He knows he needs to be listened to and understood, more than ever. He’s been a lonely and misunderstood kid for too long. Ian won’t let him feel that way ever again. 

Mickey looks at him then and Ian thinks he wants to say something. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He gasps, his lips parted, struggling to get out the words Ian knows he so desperately wants to say. Ian smiles softly when Mickey finally closes his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. It’s fine, it’s okay. 

He runs a hand over Mickey’s face, “I hate seeing you suffer,” he says, simply, hoping Mickey knows just how serious he is now. He’s sure he does, Mickey’s eyes widening a bit as the words leave his mouth. Ian takes a look at his swollen lips. Maybe he’s about to say something, maybe not, but Ian doesn’t give him the chance. Instead, he untangles their legs and gets up from the bed. As he turns towards the bed, Mickey’s already on his back, watching him, a curious look on his face. Ian smiles. Reaches out a hand. 

“Come on, let’s take a shower. You stink.”

Mickey chuckles then, and it’s a bit wet but Ian feels a giant weight falling from his shoulders, from his heart. Suddenly he feels lighter, his heart is beating faster for the relief he’s feeling. Everything’s going to be okay.

Mickey takes his hand.

\---

“The fuck you doin’?”

Mickey’s voice gets back to his grumpy tone as soon as Ian starts gently massaging his head with his hand full of shampoo foam. Ian laughs. 

“Excuse me, can’t I take care of  _ my husband?”  _

Mickey snorts, but he doesn’t do anything to wriggle out of Ian’s grip. His eyes are closed and he’s so  _ cute  _ in this moment, Ian can’t help himself from quickly pecking him on the lips. He doesn’t even have time to let go of them that he sees them slightly curling up.  _ Soft motherfucker.  _

“I’m not a fucking child,” he grumbles then, because he’s still Mickey Milkovich, after all. Ian just finds it amusing, more than anything, especially since he’s still grinning. He’s so fucking beautiful. 

Ian keeps washing his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp in hope of washing away some of the emotions of today. 

He thinks about it then, only for a second, biting his own lip, before saying, “You always take care of me.” Ian knows there’s no need to spell it out, he knows Mickey knows what he means. 

He shrugs his shoulders then, as if Mickey could see him. 

And he doesn’t see him, but he takes a step closer, resting his hands on Ian’s hips and stroking him there, drawing little circles with his fingers. Then, as he opens his eyes, he moves them to his ass. Ian smiles. He likes it when Mickey touches his ass. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

Mickey looks up as he shrugs his shoulders, still moving his hands on Ian’s body, “Yeah, well. That’s what I signed up for.”

Ian keeps rubbing Mickey’s head as he gets lost in his eyes, a little less blurry, a little more blue, “Yeah, well. Me too,” he smiles and puts a hand on his chest, “Close your eyes.”

Mickey does as he’s told, relying completely on Ian’s hands, moving him gently under the water stream. Ian rinses carefully any trace of shampoo from his hair. As soon as he’s done, Ian’s back at looking at him. And what he sees sends immediately a warmth surge straight to his heart. Mickey’s face is all scrunched up. His little nose, his plump lips. His brows are furrowed. He looks so small right then and there, it makes Ian weak in the knees. It makes him feel so fucking full of love for Mickey, so full of him. He wants to feel it forever. He knows he  _ will.  _ He will feel it forever.

After making sure again that every trace of shampoo has been rinsed off from Mickey’s head, Ian puts his hands on his hips and moves him away from the water stream. He runs a hand on his face for him, trying with his fingertips to wipe away the water from his eyelids. 

“Alright, done, pretty face,” he says, and Mickey has just enough time to open his eyes before Ian gives him the chance to roll them, leaning in to kiss him again. Mickey’s lips are warm and soft, tasting a bit like lemon, just like the shampoo. He feels Mickey’s hands squeezing his ass. He’s grinning when Ian goes back to look at him. 

Ian smiles, “I’m not washing your dick, though.” 

Mickey rolls his eyes, then grumbles, “I wouldn’t let you wash my dick anyway, asshole.” He’s smiling as he says it, which makes Ian feel even more full of love. 

They finish washing themselves, playfully shoving each other from time to time. Then, after insisting in drying Mickey’s hair himself, Ian takes his hand and drags him into their room again, removing the towel from his waist as soon as they cross the door, pushing him slightly until he’s laying on his back on their bed, butt naked just as he is. Ian hops on the bed too, nuzzling into Mickey’s body and holding him close.

Mickey chuckles under his breath, “I’m married to a fuckin’ cat.” Ian can feel Mickey’s hot breath against his temple as he speaks and can’t find it in him to fight the smile that spreads across his face as he raises his head to look Mickey in the eyes. He’s so fucking beautiful. Ian wants to kiss every part of his face, every part of his body. Every part of his soul.

They kiss again, sweet and gentle sucking kisses at first, then deepening it, tongues brushing against each other. 

The kissing turns to fucking then. Slow, face-to-face fucking, Mickey’s legs wrapped tightly around Ian’s waist. 

And Ian kisses him, everywhere. Kisses, licks, sucks at him. Mickey lets him do whatever he wants. 

When they’re done, Ian rests against Mickey’s chest, both of them gasping for air, until Mickey shoves him slightly. Ian takes the hint and rolls onto his back. They just lay there in the dark for a bit, their heavy breaths the only audible sound.

Mickey’s the first to shift a little bit, rolling onto his stomach, right into Ian. He places an arm on his chest as he kisses him gently,  _ so fucking gently,  _ on the cheek. Ian knows he must be blushing like a damn tomato right now. But he doesn’t care. It’s Mickey. He holds him close, kisses his temple.

And just as Ian’s starting to drift off to sleep to the feel of Mickey’s gentle brushes on his chest, to the smell of his body, a mix of lemon and sweat from their recent fuck session, to the sound of his soft breaths, he hears his voice. 

“Thank you,” it’s just a soft murmur, “For today.”

Ian feels his eyes starting to burn again, a little bit, he feels the tightness in his throat. He has to cough slightly before speaking, his voice a whisper only for Mickey to hear, “I’ll always be there for you.”

He will. He’s never leaving him alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it, kudos and comments are always appreciated.  
> If there are any mistakes please do not hesitate to let me know.  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/constellxtions_) ♡


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